Mantra
by Crystal Sampson
Summary: A series of companion shots for my other piece, Battle Cry. They aren't particularly involved, but they'll make a bit more sense if you read that first.
1. Flying

_So here's the first of several little scenes that came to me while I was writing Battle Cry. They are all relatively short and not meant to be read in any particular order. Enjoy!_

* * *

"Attention, please. If there is anyone who knows sign language, could you please report to gate 13A? Anyone who knows sign language please report to 13A. Thank you."

Sam glanced around himself. No one even seemed to acknowledge the announcement. He frowned. 13A was where he was sitting. There were about thirty people there. Surely he wasn't the only one who signed in the entire lot. He wouldn't be much help. It wasn't like he could play interpreter really. He'd have to write everything down. Anyone who knew ASL could probably do the same.

In fact, Sam wondered why it was even an issue. It wasn't like one precluded the other.

Still, he was aware that he seemed to be the only person in the immediate vicinity who could be of any help. He stood, pulled the small flip pad from his jeans pocket, and flipped to the opening page.

 _Hello,_

 _My name is Sam Winchester. I am mute. I can hear just fine, I just can't speak. I am, however fluent in ASL._

He wrinkled his nose in distaste. It helped to have something pre-written to save time, but it was awkward and clunky and just a little childish. It made his sound like a lost five year. The wording had been Dean's and Sam still wrote it in the front of every notepad. Even if it sounded silly, he liked having a little piece of Dean with him. That little slice of proof that big brother cared.

Regardless of how it sounded, Sam decided it would do. It was just about perfect, in fact. He gathered his backpack and made his way to the desk near the boarding entrance. The stewardess standing there had her back turned to him, talking to someone else standing near a closed door. Sam wrapped on the desk to get her attention.

The woman spun to face him. "May I help you, sir?"

Sam smiled at her and slid the open notepad across the desk toward her so she could read it. He eyes widened a little as she read. She glanced back up at him.

"You sign?"

Sam gave a tight nod.

She visibly sagged. "Thank God."

Sam wrinkled his brow in confusion.

"If you'd come with me?" The woman said. She moved out from behind the desk. Sam collected his pad and followed her. "We've tried everything but we can't get her to calm down. She's hysteric."

Sam flipped to a clean page and wrote, _What happened? Who's hysteric?_ He tapped the woman's shoulder and showed her the page. She barely paused.

"There's a little girl," she said. "She's maybe ten. She's deaf and she broke down near the gate. We've tried everything we could think of, but she won't calm down and won't tell us what's wrong."

Sam mimed writing at the woman, but she shook her head. "She wouldn't. We tried already. We can't find our normal interpreter anywhere either."

Sam nodded. He followed the woman, her name badge said Janice, through a door into a small, grey room. There were a couple of chairs pushed up against the walls. At the back wall, a small girl sat on one of the chairs with her knees drawn up to her chest, feet on the seat cushion. Her head was down and he could hear her sniffling. Two men stood on either side of her giving each other significant looks. Another woman and kneeled down in front of her and rested a hand on her knee. Yet another was watching from beside the door.

Sam shuddered. The room was too small to hold so many people. It felt claustrophobic to him, even though he wasn't really bothered by close spaces or lots of people. To a distraught ten year old, it must have been overwhelming.

Sam's lips thinned.

Janice looked back at him. "Anything you could do would be a help."

Sam nodded. He jotted a quick note and handed it to her. _Can you clear some of these people? I think it's probably not helping to have so many in such a small room._

Janice glanced around and nodded. She cleared her throat.

"This is Sam Winchester," She said, drawing all the adults' attention to them. "He's here to talk to her. If everyone could just step out for a moment. I'll stay here, but we really won't all fit."

The girl with her hand resting on the child's knee looked up at him, eyes wide and desperate. The others all filed out as she rose. She laid a hand on his shoulder. "Thank you. We're all at a loss."

Sam gave her a small smile and a nod of his head before she left.

Once the door clicked shut, Sam made his way forward haltingly. He had no real experience with children. It wasn't really anything he'd had a reason to deal with in the past. He tried to think what Dean might say or do in this situation.

Sam took a deep breath and got on his knees in front of the girl. He gave two quick taps on her knee, next to her hand to get her attention.

It took her a moment, but she did lift her head to peer at him through her curly blond hair.

Sam tried to smile at her. She pulled in a bit from him.

'Hey,' Sam signed. She bit her lip, her eyes going wide. She didn't respond but she didn't go back to hiding either, so he tried again. 'My name's S-A-M. What's yours?'

She stared at him for another minute, then in small halting letters she signed. 'M-A-R-L-E-N-E'

'Hi, MARLENE. Nice to meet you.'

Marlene didn't respond.

'J-A-N-I-C-E,' he spelled, pointing to the woman now hovering near the door. 'She told me you were having a hard time. What's wrong?'

It took another minute, but Marlene finally answered him. 'I think I got lost and missed my flight. I'm stuck and I don't know what to do.'

Sam nodded. 'That's not good at all.' He smiled at her. 'But I bet we can figure out where you're supposed to be. Are you flying all by yourself?'

She nodded.

'Wow! That's really cool. I would never have been allowed to do that.'

She perked up. 'Really?'

Sam nodded. 'Yeah, I have a really protective older brother. He never let me go anywhere.' He rolled his eyes.

She frowned. 'I'm supposed to be meeting my new brother.'

Sam's eyebrows shot up. 'You've got a new brother?'

She nodded.

'Was he just born?'

She shook her head. 'No, he's fourteen. He lives with my new parents.'

'New parents?'

She nodded and stared at the floor. 'They are thinking about adopting me. I have to be good so they'll take me. Mrs. Hunter says if I'm not good they might send me back. And now I've gone and messed everything up.'

Sam laid a gentle hand on her knee. He could see her tearing up again. 'It's okay. It's not your fault. Airports are really confusing. I bet even your new parents get lost in them sometimes.'

Her eyes rose to meet his. 'Really?'

'Sure,' he signed with an easy grin. 'I know I do.'

'You do? But you're all grown up.'

'That doesn't mean I don't get lost sometimes. But you know what I do?'

She shook her head. 'I stop and think what would my brother do. Then I do the exact opposite, because he's silly and has a bad sense of direction.'

That did it. She giggled just a bit.

'Now, I bet we can get you where you need to go. Do you still have your ticket?'

She pulled out a boarding pass in its paper folder and showed it to him. He glanced at it, but he had no idea what flight that was. 'Good. Can Janice come over and take a look? She's way better at finding planes than me."

Marlene glanced at Janice and nodded. Sam smiled. He beckoned the woman over. She watched over her shoulder as he scratched out the rough details on a blank sheet.

 _This is Marlene. She's worried she missed her flight. She's flying alone and got a little lost. Can you take a look at her flight information?_

Janice smiled and held out her hand for the boarding pass.

'It's okay,' Sam told Marlene. 'She's just going to take a look so she can help.'

Marlene offered the pass and Janice looked over the information. While she did, Sam thought of something else. 'Is there anyone we can call? Do you have a phone number for your new parents or for Mrs. Hunter?'

Marlene made a little surprised face and nodded. She dove into the Hello Kitty backpack sitting on the seat next to her. She rummaged for a moment and produced a sheet of paper that she handed to Sam.

The paper had a short list of contact.

Sam smiled. 'Thanks!'

"Sir, this flight left half an hour ago."

Sam nodded. He looked Marlene over, then said, 'I'm going to see if we can't sort this out. I'll be right over there, okay?'

Marlene nodded. 'Okay.'

Sam rose and nodded towards the door. He and Janice stopped right inside the doorway. He hated how slow this was, but he had to write another note. _She was traveling to meet her new adoptive parents. I'm not sure who put her on a plane by herself that young, but she did have some contacts on her. I'd check with the two Whitney's on the list first. I get the idea this Mrs. Hunter won't be much help._

"Oh, you're a lifesaver! Thank you."

Sam nodded.

 _I'm going to stay here with her until we get this sorted out._

Janice nodded. "That would be wonderful of you. I'm going to send Ally in. We have to supervise her since she's so young, but you've done the impossible. We've been with her for almost an hour and couldn't get her to calm down."

Sam nodded. Janice left and Sam went to sit next to Marlene as Ally came in. Ally it turns out was the other young woman who had been kneeling with Marlene when Sam came in. She nodded at him, but hung close to the door.

Marlene was looking at him as he sat. 'Janice is going to go make a couple of calls. We'll have you on your way in no time.'

'Thank you.'

Sam nodded.

She studied him for a long moment. Finally she asked, 'You're not deaf?'

'No. I had an accident a long time ago and lost my voice. I sign instead now.'

Her eyes widened. 'You lost your voice? What happened?'

'I caught a bug while I was hiking with my family once.' Sam shrugged. 'That was a long time ago though.'

She nodded. 'I lost my hearing because I got really sick. I don't remember much about it.'

'That must have been hard.'

She shrugged. 'I'm fine now. There was a nice lady at the hospital, Clara, who taught me to sign. Who taught you?'

Sam smiled thinking of the book dropped into his lap when he was fifteen by a gruff man. 'My Uncle Bobby. He helped me a lot.'

Janice reappeared in the door and beckoned towards Sam.

'Hold that thought,' he signed to Marlene.

He crossed the room to Janice. "I spoke to both the Whitmans and to this Mrs. Hunter. We've switched her over to the next flight. It won't leave for a couple of hours, but she'll make it home."

Sam smiled and nodded. _When will her flight leave?_

"6:30 tonight."

He turned and went back to Marlene. 'Good news. We got ahold of everyone and you're all set. It's just going to be a little later than they thought. You're going to leave at 6:30. Janice is going to make sure you get on and there will be someone on the other side to make sure you get off and find your new family okay.'

Marlene grinned and nodded. Then she turned shy. She looked up at him. 'Will you stay with me till then?'

Sam paused. He thought of Jess sitting up in their apartment and the welcome home cookies that would be waiting for him. It was their tradition. His flight was scheduled to leave at 4:49pm. There wouldn't be another until the next morning.

But then he looked at Marlene sitting in front of him. She was so small and had seemed so scared. He might not be a hunter anymore, but that didn't mean he had given up helping people. He sat down next to her again.

'Of course.'

He pulled out his cell phone and sent Jessica a quick text to let her know. _Got to take care of something here. Not going to make it home tonight. Catching the first flight out tomorrow morning._

That evening, as he settled into an awkward position to sleep in the airport waiting chairs, he was oddly comforted that he had spent the night in worse motels. In fact, this was probably more comfortable than some beds he'd slept in. Before he drifted off to sleep he checked his phone.

Jess had text him back, _Okay. Everything all right?_

He smiled and sent a quick response. _Its fine, just had something to take care of. I'll tell you about it when I get in._

He paused, glancing over his other recent messages. Most were from Jess, but one of the more recent ones was from Bobby. He had needed help with a translation and reached out to Sam. He smiled and, before he could reconsider, sent another text.

 _Thanks,_ was all he said.

A minute later he got a response.

 _Idjit_.

Sam chuckled and fell asleep listening to the shuffle of nighttime passengers.


	2. Concession

The month after their abrupt departure from Singer Salvage went by in silence. Sam was beginning to wonder if he really was the only one who couldn't talk. John barely spoke to either of the boys, when he was around anyway. They kept moving. Sam had hoped when they left Bobby's they'd settle down until Christmas like they usually did.

But John never stopped. It had been a new motel every week, skipping across the state lines like some grownup game of hopscotch.

Sam couldn't be sure, but he thought John looked tired, more worn around the edges. Like he sagged a little more every time he came home. There were times Sam would catch the smell of whiskey on him, sour and sticky in his nose.

He worried.

John was a responsible man. He was driven and obsessive, but he never let himself go. He got lost in the hunt, but he felt a very keen sense of duty to himself, to the people he saved, even to his children regardless of how that manifest itself. Sam may have always regarded Dean as the real presence in his life, but he never doubted for a second that John thought he was doing right. Lately he wasn't so sure anymore.

John was gone for days at a time with no word about where he was going, or how long he'd be gone. He gave strict orders to Dean that Sam was not allowed near a hunt for the foreseeable future and was not to come on the rare occasion that John asked Dean for his help. Dean and Sam both chafed at this.

For Dean it meant more time cooped up in one place. He had begun to take on local solo hunts before this whole fiasco began. Simple hauntings and the like that could be put down with a little backup and weren't too involved. Backup meant Sam. With Sam out of commission, Dean was not going anywhere. Not on Sam's watch. Bad things happened when Dean hunted alone.

His primary job was still making sure Sam was taken care of, but he'd been allowed the freedom to do at least a small part of the job. On the down times, he worked part time at wherever he could find that would hire him. It never paid a lot, but it meant they had food money, assuming John didn't disappear and forget to pay for the motel or apartment or wherever they were staying.

Sam was restless too. He couldn't help Dean or John hunt. Anytime he tried to have even a semi-conversation with John, he was rebuffed if not outright ignored. He was relegated to research on the rare occasion he was allowed anywhere near any of it. Sam liked research, but he was feeling more trapped than usual.

With little research to be done, no hunting, no school, and not being allowed to go out on his own, he was ready to climb the walls. He knew Dean was as sick of him as he was of Dean, but big brother refused to take him anywhere or do much of anything for the first few weeks. It was like being in prison.

When pressed about going out, Dean just shrugged and said, "What if something happens while you're out?"

Which made Sam want to scream at him. He'd been training since he was eight years old. He could handle himself. Not to mention it wasn't like he didn't know how to write a simple note. He could think of very few, highly unlikely scenarios in which he couldn't solve the problems he would be faced with. And really, he wasn't likely to encounter any of them at a public library.

Dean was not very responsive to this line of logic, but after the fifth argument in as many days, he finally agreed to drop Sam off at the local library once a week.

Sam couldn't wait till he could get a learner's permit to drive by himself. More likely, Dean would fake one for him, but still.

The one plus was that if the library sucked in one town, they never stayed for very long. Plus all the down time gave Sam and Dean plenty of time to work on their signing. After a month, they were very nearly coherent. They were certainly more than capable of holding the same argument over and over again.

They never signed in front of John though. It made him angry. More than that, Sam thought it made him sad.

John had walked in on them once. It had been stupid really. They'd been talking about grocery shopping. From the look on his face, they might have been drawing on the walls or tearing up the carpet. Dark clouds drew over his face and he stormed about the room for the rest of the afternoon.

Finally, near the middle of week four, Sam decided enough was enough. He was going to talk to John. This had to end. He wasn't sure exactly what was going on with John, but this was ridiculous. Sam waited for a night when he would have John to himself for a little while. So when Dean announced he was going to the store for a little while, Sam seized the opportunity.

Sam set himself up at the table so he would see John as he entered, and more importantly be seen. He had set the notebook up in front of himself. He kept his hands clasped in front of him, trying to keep them from betraying how nervous he was. He had three separate pages written out in preparation.

When the key turned in the latch, Sam took a deep breath and steeled himself to have this conversation. John opened the door and caught sight of Sam. He tried to avert his eyes, but Sam held his gaze. As the door clicked shut, Sam stood and brought the notebook with him. He handed it to his father.

On it he had simply written, _Can we talk?_

John grimaced. He had the smell of alcohol on him, but didn't seem to have been drinking. He looked toward his bed and shook his head. "Not tonight, Sam. I'm tired."

Sam pulled the notebook back and scribbled down a second note. _Please? It's important._

John had moved and was taking off his boots. Sam laid the pad beside him. When John glanced at it, he took a deep breath, in then out. He scrubbed his hands over his face and palmed his eyes. He looked so tired in that moment, Sam almost withdrew.

Finally he said, "What is it?"

Sam, judging by the sag in John's shoulders and his resigned tone, opted for the second note and flipped to that.

 _Why are you angry with me?_

Sam had agonized over what to say. He really had nearly a dozen notes he had written, but had narrowed it down to two given his father's moods lately. John saw the writing and sighed as he took the pad, but motioned for Sam to sit next to him.

When Sam had sat, John set the pad back in Sam's lap. Sam grabbed it to keep it from falling in the floor.

"Why do you think I'm angry?"

Sam chewed on his bottom lip. It was a bad habit that Dean teased him for, but he'd noticed that he'd become more physical in his expressions and that was one thing that had been exacerbated. He shrugged.

"You're not going to be in trouble for answering my question."

Sam stared down at the paper. He pulled out his pen and started writing. He could feel John's eyes on the back of his neck and knew his father was reading over his shoulder, but he thought it might be easier that way.

 _I just can tell. You're never here and when you are it's like you can't look at me, sometimes Dean either. You get angry when we sign. I see your eyes go tight and-_

"Sam," John said. It was like air falling out of a sail. "I'm not angry with you."

Sam drew his eyebrows together and frowned up at his father, confused. If he wasn't angry at Sam, something else was wrong.

"Well, not entirely. I don't understand why you wanted to quit looking for a cure and that frustrates me."

Sam felt a little flutter of hope in his chest. Maybe he'd get the chance to explain. He tapped the notebook. John frowned but nodded.

 _I couldn't keep bouncing from one thing to the next with no idea when or if something was eventually going to work._

"Sam…" John tried to interrupt, but Sam shook his head and kept writing.

 _I'm not giving up, I promised Dean we'd keep looking, but I have to know how to live like this. We could find something tomorrow, or in a month, or it could be ten years from now. I can't hide in a corner for the rest of my life. I'm not going to just give up living because this happened._

John studied Sam for a long time. Sam felt like squirming under the scrutiny. Finally he wrote, _Dean and I agreed I'd get one month just to figure this out. To figure out what I needed._

John nodded. "And I assume that's nearly up."

Sam nodded. _Last week._

"And what did you decide?"

Sam let himself breathe a little easier. He still hesitated over the paper, then shrugged. _Not much really. I can get by fine most of the time. The signing helps a lot, at least when I'm around other people who sign._ And could understand his half intelligible prattle. _It was just we were trying things left and right one after another. It was too fast. I'm still learning what I can and can't do, but I'm better prepared now. It helped when Dean stopped acting like this was all going away in the next five minutes. I'm not an invalid, I am still just as capable of doing most of what I always did. I just want things to go back to normal._

What he really wanted to say was that it helped that Dean never questioned that Sam was just Sam. Once they had established there wasn't a quick fix, Dean just got on with treating Sam like he always had.

John cleared his throat. "Things are going to have to change. You know that, Sam."

Sam nodded. Of course he knew not everything would be the same, but the sooner he settled back into a routine, the better.

"You said you made a deal with Dean?"

 _One day a month we research and try anything new we've got._

John leaned back beside Sam. Sam could tell he was debating something with himself. Finally he said, "Okay." He sat up and looked at Sam. "Okay. Come the New Year, we'll settle down and get you enrolled back in school, if that's what you want."

Sam grinned. Finally. He nodded enthusiastically.

John held up a hand. "You'll be taking on more research responsibilities. It's too dangerous to send you in like this."

Sam frowned. _I'm perfectly-_

"Don't argue with me on this. What happens if you get cornered and need help? What if Dean's too preoccupied watching out for you that he doesn't keep his mind on the hunt? No, you're not hunting. Not until we find a solution."

Sam felt the old bristling irritation towards his father. It seemed like they were on the same side for once and then things turned against him again. He looked again at John. The man's eyes were bloodshot and drooping.

Sam stood. He wasn't going to try this battle. He'd gotten John to agree to settle down for a while. That was one victory alone. He'd wait until he was on more solid footing about hunting.

It occurred to him as he listened to his father getting ready to go to sleep, that he should be glad. He'd never wanted to be a hunter. He hated hunting. He wanted a normal life. This should be his ticket out, but all he could see was John's disappointment, the tired set to his shoulders as he told Sam he couldn't hunt. Sam could do it. He would. If for no other reason than to prove John Winchester wrong. He'd lost his voice, not his mind, not the years of endless training. Sam could hunt. He'd be a damn fine hunter. He'd do that and work harder than anyone else because that's what it would take to get into college.

That night was the first time Sam seriously considered college.

It would be his ticket out. He'd work hard. He'd prove himself first to John, then to the schools. He'd get an education and then he'd get out. He'd be free. And more importantly, he'd be free because he had proven he could be, not because of some accident.


	3. Hunting

Sam glared at the three men smiling and talking together at the head of the trail. Dean was with them, shotgun held loosely in his hands, head thrown back in laughter. When Dean turned to look at him, Sam jerked his head towards the car and turned to walk off.

Dean caught up to him with a short jog. He cast a glance over his shoulder at the other men, then signed, 'What's wrong?' His fist casually bumped against his chin, pinky and thumb extended almost lazily.

'Something isn't right about this.'

"I know they're dicks, but Bobby said they know their stuff. It's only a few more hours." It was just like Dean to swap back and forth, sometimes within a single sentence, signing and speaking interchangeably.

'No. It's not just that,' Sam said with a frown. 'This whole thing doesn't add up.'

"Okay Haley Joel. Gonna have to be more specific than that."

Sam shrugged. He could feel eyes on him and he hated the way they lingered on his skin. Their backup was watching him like prey, waiting for the chance to make him stay behind, kick him out of the hunt.

"Come on. What's the hold up?" Mark shouted.

"Chill man," Dean hollered back. "Give us a sec." Dean turned back to Sam. "Sam?"

Sam frowned, then fished Dean's keys from the pocket of his leather jacket and unlocked the door. He rummaged through the glove compartment until he came up with a map. He pulled it out and spread it across the hood of the car. Dean came to stand behind him. Sam pointed to a spot on the paper. It was roughly due east of them and approximately where they thought this thing might be hiding out.

Dean stared down at it, uncomprehending. Finally he shrugged. "So what, Sam. It's the woods. Big deal."

Sam shook his head. He jabbed his finger into the paper, pointed to a series of points in a rough circle around his original location then back at the first point.

Dean leaned in closer, still confused. The spot they were headed to was in a small, self contained valley. The hills rose up all around and were filled with caves. Any point on those hills could look straight down into the valley and watch them. Whatever this was, it was smart and it had set a nice little trap.

"Clever," Dean said.

Sam frowned, scanning the nearby trees. The only problem was, the hostages were still in there somewhere. If this thing was that smart, Sam was willing to bet that it had stashed them in a nice little clearing where it could lure them in without being seen.

"We still have to go in," Dean reminded him.

Sam scowled. He tapped his fingers roughly against Dean's forehead. 'Think, Dean!'

Dean scowled back. "What's your problem?" The brothers glared at one another, neither willing to back down. "You've been pissy since we met up with the others and I'm getting sick of being your punching bag."

"Tell the princess to suck it up," Mark shouted. "We're burning daylight. Y'all can play charades when this is all over with."

Sam winced and looked away, anger shifting to embarrassment. If he hadn't, he might have been able to stop Dean's next idiotic move. He knew when Dean moved away, but he'd resigned himself to trailing along behind his brother as he'd done most of this hunt. He'd been dismissed since Mark and his gang had shown up and he was tired of it, but the sooner he got this over with, the sooner they'd go away. He'd taken two steps towards the trailhead, eyes focused resolutely on the ground, when he was startled out of his reverie by a pained grunt. His eyes shot up and saw Mark picking himself up off the ground.

"What the fuck, man?" He demanded.

Dean was towering over him. "I've had enough of your shit. Sam's not an idiot. He made it into Stanford for fuck's sake. What's it going to take to get that through your skull? It's not charades or a game. Some monster stole his voice. This life took that from him, but he's still here. He's still helping people."

"Look man, I was only joking."

Sam watched as Dean went scarlet. He was jogging across the remaining blacktop and pushing himself in front of Dean before he could go for the man's throat.

"You think this is a joke?" He screamed. Sam pushed him back, trying to get some space between them.

"What's the big deal?" Sam closed his eyes and braced himself for Dean, who he was expected to charge the man. When that didn't happen, he looked up.

Dean's eyes were hard. "You know what," he said. "I think you can finish this one on your own. Sam and I have better things to do." His voice was calm, controlled, and lethal. He turned and stalked back towards the car. After a few steps, he called back. "It's a trap, just so you know. Sam figured it out. When the thing guts you, I want you to remember that."

"Whatever," Mark said. He hoisted his gun and motioned for the men with him to get moving. Sam chased Dean back towards the car, once again intercepting him before he could put the key in the lock. All the while signing, 'Stop. Damnit, Dean. Just stop!'

Dean turned tired eyes on Sam. "What."

Sam glanced back towards the woods. 'We have to go after them.'

Dean sighed and crossed his arms. He just stared at Sam. Sam hated that gesture. Even though Sam could hear, even though Dean didn't have to sign at all, it was the posture he adopted when he was through speaking, hands tucked into his elbows where they wouldn't so much as twitch, eyes hard, and lips clamped shut. No movement at all. The one small saving grace was that in all the time that Sam had been mute, Dean had only ever turned his back on him intentionally once – the night he left for college. And Sam really didn't blame him.

'Please, Dean. We know this is a trap. We know exactly what this thing wants us to do. We can't just let them walk into it without backup.'

Dean didn't move, just watched Sam with those hard eyes.

Sam shrank back a little at the intensity. 'I'm sorry, okay. I should have played nice a little while longer.'

Dean's scowl softened just a fraction.

'Look, Mark's an asshole and if we never see him after this I'm fine with it, but he doesn't deserve to die just because he's a moron.'

Dean's lips quirked into a hint of a smirk. He was really trying to maintain his hard look. Sam glanced away from his brother, embarrassed. 'Thanks,' he signed. 'For standing up for me.'

Dean sighed. "Fine we'll go rescue the idiots. Mark'll probably shoot the hostages by mistake anyway."

Sam smirked and nodded at Dean. "So you got a plan in the gigantor brain of yours, or are we just winging it this time?"

Sam's plan was simple.

The two of them would scout out the most likely locations up in the hills that the monster would be watching from while Mark and his crew made their way down to the hostages. This was all assuming that Mark would follow the original plan. He had no reason not to. It had been a good plan before they realized what was happening.

Which of course meant that it was bound to go sideways from the very beginning.

They took the upper trail, knowing they didn't have any time to lose. Mark had about ten minutes on them and they would be traversing off-trail into the thick underbrush. It was the quickest route and they needed all the time they could get if they were going to get there before the thing pounced. Of course, they debated trying to trail Mark and just kill the thing when he showed. It wouldn't keep either brother up at night to use him as bait, but their main concern was the hostages. There were five people up in those woods with potentially only an hour left live. They had to cut the monster off before it could get down there to do more damage.

So they hiked to the top of the nearest hill, only pausing once for a rest and a weapons check. They had started with the mostly likely lookout first, hoping that it would be a fair guess.

Their luck held up until they stumbled into the cave. This one was the highest, most removed from the trails with the best look down into the valley below. It would be the most likely hiding place.

The cave showed obvious signs that something was living there. The debris from the early fall leaves had been brushed aside and there were old animal hides near the front entrance. Bones were piled against the side walls a little further in and the stench of old blood and rotted meat permeated the air. There were claw marks carved into the walls, long gashes in sets of four. Sam shuddered. But the most disturbing thing, the thing that made Sam's blood run cold wasn't the stale blood or the piles of bones. It wasn't even the half dissected corpse of a boy who looked to be maybe nine or ten. It was the absolute lack of creature in the cave. Which meant one of two things.

Either they had missed their chance and Mark's crew was about to become lunch, or the thing had known they were coming and was watching them.

"What the fuck is this thing?" Dean demanded, fingers tracing over the claw marks.

Sam shook his head slowly. He wished he knew. It made him anxious to go into a hunt like this without actually knowing what they were really up against. Things never ended well for them when they didn't do the right research. His best guess was that it was related to a wendigo, and fortunately if you load anything with a heartbeat with enough fire, it'll typically kill it. Or at least piss it off. So they all had a variety of torches. Sam had his flair guns and Dean had dug up a flame thrower from somewhere. Sam had tucked the revolver with silver rounds into his waistband too and he knew for a fact Dean was carrying holy water in addition to his normal arsenal, just in case.

Sam felt the tension mounting. The cave was a single room with nowhere to run or hide and a relatively narrow mouth. He grabbed his brother's shoulder and whirled him around. 'We need to get out of here. Now. Before it comes back.'

Sam didn't wait for a response. He started pushing Dean towards the mouth of the cave.

"Sam! Stop. I'm going."

As Dean jerked his arm from Sam's grasp, the light from the entrance dimmed. A giant shadow loomed in the opening, blocking the only exit from the cave.

"Fuck!" Dean swore and brought his flamethrower up in time with Sam's hastily aimed flair gun. It was just far enough away to be out of Dean's range, but Sam's gun might do the trick. Before he could pull the trigger, the thing moved. One second it was blocking the cave entrance, the next it was on top of Dean. Sam watched as it picked Dean up, sniffed him, and then bashed him against the cave wall, allowing his limp form to fall and land with a sickening thwump on the floor.

Sam stared at the lifeless form, taking several involuntary steps forward. He kicked a stray bone, the noise snapping both monster and man from the moment. The thing whipped around, scenting the air in Sam's direction, who had frozen in place. In the half light of the cave, Sam could only see a large bulky shape – the vaguest sense of thick, matte fur and a large damp snout. Something like a bear, if a bear could be three times as tall as a man and have long, thin arms.

It shuffled forward a few steps, still smelling and Sam decided it must rely on sound and smell over vision, at least in the dark. It seemed to have realized there was more than one prey in its cave, but hadn't found Sam yet. Casting one last glance at his unmoving brother, he couldn't help Dean until he dealt with the monster, Sam carefully began to back up towards the entrance and away from the bear thing, hoping that it wouldn't hear him. He needed to get it clear of Dean before he took a shot. As it moved further into the light, Sam had doubts about the flair gun. That coat looked thick.

Sam must have misjudged his step because the creature's head snapped around, intently focused on Sam. It let out a bellow that reverberated painfully in the cave, nearly driving Sam to his knees. Sam risked a glance behind him. The way was clear until he got a few feet outside of the cave and tree roots began to snake across the ground.

He dashed out and put his back to the tree, whirling around in time to see the enormous beast bearing down on him. He aimed at the head and fired. He would only have one shot before it was on top of him.

The shot landed square in the center of the beast's forehead. It stopped and shrieked again, swiping at the spot with its huge claws. The flash of the flair gave way to smoke and dull flames as the sparks caught not only in the fur of the creature, but in the surrounding vegetation, particularly the tree leaves overhead.

The creature thrashed trying to stamp it out. Sam was panting. The beast whirled back and let out another terrific growl inches from Sam's face. Sam dove to the side and just in time. Claws cut deep into bark where Sam's head had been moments before as the flare gun was jarred from his hand.

He mouthed curses as the claws came down into the ground inches from his shoulder. He rolled to get out of the way, grabbing the gun from his waistband. He flipped onto his back, aimed, and fired all in the space of a single breath. Three shots clustered neatly where the flare had hit.

The beast shrieked once more and keeled forward. Sam had to scramble out of the way to keep from being crushed under the still smouldering coat. He poked it with the toe of his boots, but the creature didn't stir. Sure that it was at least knocked out, Sam dashed back into the cave, skidding to a halt next to Dean. He was so still. Sam pushed his fingers against Dean's neck and sagged when he found a weak pulse. Dean was alive. Definitely concussed and more than likely with a few broken bones, but alive.

Sam patted his cheek, tapping finger nails against his skin with more force than perhaps necessary, but Dean didn't rouse. Not even a flutter. Panic began to set in again.

Sam rubbed his knuckles roughly against Dean's collarbone. Dean moaned and shied away from the movement. Sam did it again, smacking his cheek again for good measure.

Dean's head rolled a little and Dean muttered something. Sam grinned. Good. He hadn't snapped his stupid neck. Sam dug his knuckles in again. Slowly Dean's eyes pulled open into slits and he frowned. "S'mmy?"

Sam patted his cheek, not sure if Dean would be able to make out his signs in the gloom with a bad concussion. "Wha hpned?"

'Monster got you good. What hurts?'

"S'm. M'head. Hurss."

His eyes started to slip close, but Sam patted his cheek just under his eye. They slipped open a fraction again. 'Need to get you to a hospital. How's your neck?'

"Neck?"

Sam nodded. 'Stiff? Sore? Can you move your fingers?'

Dean stared up at him, but finally said, "Go 'way, Sam. Tired."

Sam wasn't having any of it. He dug his knuckles back into Dean's collar bone, making him snap back to awareness. "Sam," he asked, a little more lucid this time.

Sam smiled back at him. 'Got to get you to the car. Going to hurt. Sorry. Need you to stay awake.'

Dean frowned at him. "Sam? What…your shoulder." He closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath. He opened his eyes again. "God, my head."

Sam glanced at his shoulder and grimaced. He had four deep gashes running along the upper part of his arm that were leaking blood. Now that he looked at them, he felt them. If he didn't get Dean back and soon, he'd not be able to lift him.

Sam smacked Dean's shoulder to get his attention. 'Got to haul you down. Talk to me. You stop talking, I get first shower for the next month.'

"W'tevr."

Sam frowned. He pinched Dean's arm. 'Talk!'

"'bout what?"

'Don't care. Just talk.'

"Tired."

Sam pinched him again.

"Fine, bitch. Bet I c'n name twnty clowns in unner five minute."

Sam grimaced. He hefted Dean, who seemed genuinely unconcerned to being lifted into a fireman's carry. It wasn't Sam's preferred choice, but seeing as he had no cell reception, no stretcher, and no backup, it would have to do. He did take a small bit of pleasure in jostling Dean a bit in the lift. Not enough to aggravate anything, but enough to make Dean grumble as they set off.

"Fine. No clowns. Never did know what was up with those anyway. Y'know. One day you were fine. Next I pick you up from that place, wasitcalled? With the clowns, remember? And you're white as a sheet and refused to ever go back. You had nightmares for years. Dad and I tried for weeks to get you to talk about what happened."

Sam patted Dean's leg as he walked. He was puffing to get up the hill to the ridgetop and was decidedly uncomfortable with this conversation. He never wanted to think about that day again. It was bad enough he ended up with coulrophobia.

"Yeah. Always felt a little bad about that. But I mean Jessie Connor, man. Eyes all smolder blue, hair that curled just so, enough leg for three girls, and tits the size of her head. Beautiful. And good."

Dean squirmed against Sam's shoulder and Sam smack the back of his knee. Even severely concussed, Dean was a horny animal. "Don't remember your first girl. Probably ended up making out in the library over some book. Geek."

Sam sighed. He paused as he crested the hill, taking a moment to gather his breath and assess where he was exactly. They had left the trail off to the southwest a ways. Sam could just make out their trail from their journey in. He hefted Dean back up on his shoulder and set out. Dean meanwhile was still babbling.

"You know, I was there for a lot of your firsts. First word, first steps, first gun, first day of school, first broken arm, first loose tooth. It's weird. Probably know more of your firsts than Dad did, but I got no clue who your first girl was."

Sam paused. First girl? His first kiss had been Sally Perkins in fourth grade. First date was in sixth, Amber something. First time he had sex with a girl had been with Amanda Smith behind the bleachers. She had practically jumped him. Not knowing which Dean was asking for he shrugged and kept pushing through the brush towards the trail. To his relief, they emerged a minute or two later on the path. From there it was a straight hike down to the trailhead and the Impala.

By the time they emerged from the cover of trees into the parking lot, Sam was drenched in sweat. His one arm was covered in drying blood. He'd had to stop long enough to bandage the cuts because they wouldn't stop bleeding, and he was sure the next time he put Dean down, he'd not be picking him back up.

Dean was still nattering on. Sam was pretty sure that he'd forgotten why he was talking and was just talking at this point. Dean had always been pretty chatty when he was out of it and Sam only had to prod him once or twice to get him to start again. He'd been having the same conversation now for about ten minutes on repeat. Sam was a little worried, but as long as he was talking he'd figure the rest out at the hospital.

Sam stumbled his way to the car just as Mark and his gang emerged from the other trail leading a half dozen people who looked just about as worn out as Sam felt. Mark stopped when he caught sight of Sam.

"What happened to you? Thought you two had better things to do than hunt."

Sam ignored him and fumbled with the keys to get into the passenger side of the Impala. Dean would be more comfortable in the backseat, but Sam was too exhausted to get him back there.

Dean, however, wasn't so inclined. Sam felt him raise up from where he'd been dangling. "Look, Sammy. The asshole survived."

Sam froze, eyes closed, and prayed silently that they weren't about to get murdered because of his brother. He could even hear the smirk in Dean's voice.

Mark jogged over. "What did you say?"

Sam got the car door open and let Dean slide in with a little oomph. He grabbed one of the spare notepads from the dashboard and a pen that was laying on the seat and turned so he was facing Mark and blocking the door.

 _My brother's got a bad concussion. I'm taking him to the hospital. The creature is dead. Someone should take care of the body. Cave at the top of the southeastern hill._

He scribbled the note on the pad, ripped the paper from the spiral, and shoved it at Mark. As Mark read it, Sam climbed in on the driver's side and started the car.

"That's it," he asked, coming around to Sam's side of the car. "You bail and we're supposed to clean up your mess? How do I even know you killed the thing? Might just be injured and waiting for one of us to go up there."

Sam grabbed his pad again.

 _Do it or don't. I don't give a fuck. Dean needs a hospital now. If you can't handle building a pyre, I'll call in someone else to help._

He tossed the entire pad out the window to land at Mark's feet and took off.

The staff at the hospital didn't seem all that concerned with Dean's condition. He had a concussion that they were monitoring, but seemed pretty confident would clear up with no real issue, along with some bruised ribs that Sam's treatment hadn't helped and a motley collection of blue and purple bruises covering most of his torso, but otherwise he was fine. Sam was completely perplexed how he'd gotten off so lightly given that he'd been smashed into a cave wall.

The staff all seemed more concerned with Sam's own injuries. He had a couple of first degree burns from the flare gun, the gashes, which already showed signs of infection, and his own collection of bruises. On the plus side, they had a sign language interpreter, which meant he didn't have to write everything down.

When Dean was lucid enough to not reset every three minutes or so and had stopped spewing slightly embarrassing memories from when they were kids, he managed to grow bored rather quickly. They ended up slipping out a mere three days after checking in.


	4. Signing

Sam sat shotgun on the ride home from the Men of Letters kidnapping. He kept snatching glances of his mother in the rear view. No matter how hard he tried he just could quite believe it wasn't a hallucination.

At the rest stop, after Dean had pumped and Sam returned from the snack run, they sat waiting for Mom to get back. "She's not going anywhere, you know," Dean said. He'd caught Sam watching her more than once.

Sam shrugged and looked out the window.

"Hey!" Dean smacked his knee. Sam turned back to glare at him. 'What's gotten into you?'

Sam huffed. 'Just can't believe she's real. Or any of this for that matter. You were supposed to be dead.'

"Not really." 'Chuck and Amara decide to work out their issues somewhere far away.'

'And that's it?'

'I guess. Mom was Amara's parting gift.'

Sam glanced back out the window. Mary had stopped inside the convenience store and was talking to the clerk. He turned back to his brother and asked, 'What do you think she'll say?'

'Mom? About what?'

Sam pulled a face. Dean knew very well what he was asking. 'About the fact I can't talk.'

"Sammy."

'No! I can't be...'

Dean's expression softened. 'I know. But she's not Dad. Just trust me. It'll be fine.'

'Don't tell her.'

'She's got to know.'

'Please?'

'No," Dean said with a scowl. "I'm not promising that. But you should tell her.'

'Later. At home.' Sam turned when he caught motion from the corner of his eye. Mary was heading back across the parking lot to the Impala.

"Fine," Dean said. "But you better."

'Thanks.'

"Whatever," Dean said. Sam curled up in passenger seat, head against the glass as Mary climbed into the car. He was so tired, he doubted he'd be able to keep his eyes open for long. Dean was talking to their mother, but Sam let the sound wash over him. He had all but drifted off by the time Dean started the car.

When they arrived at the bunker, the three of them stood in awkward silence in the war room for a couple of minutes before Mary made a quick excuse and retreated to her room. Dean threw him a look as she disappeared around the corner. Sam huffed but went off to find something to write on.

It took him longer than he imagined it would to put everything down on paper. It was the first time he'd ever had to tell anyone the entire story and he started over several times when he couldn't get the words right. Not only was it difficult to set everything out in a coherent way, it felt weird writing notes to his not dead mother.

He finished his note and sealed it up in an envelope. He tucked it into the front of his father's journal and collected his notepad before setting off down the hall. If he didn't go tonight he would lose his nerve.

When he arrived at her door, he saw her light was still on. He took a steadying breath and knocked softly. In the twenty seconds it took for her to answer the door, he changed his mind nearly a half dozen times. When she finally did answer, he froze.

She smiled at him. "Sam," she said, warmly.

Sam couldn't help it, he grinned at her. He was trying not to go overboard and freak her out. He remembered how disorienting it had been to be gone for a year. Thirty must be absolutely dizzying. But, this was the mother he never really had the chance to meet.

He realized he was just staring at her when she stepped back. "Did you need something?"

He smiled, a little embarrassed to be caught out and shook his head. 'Sorry,' he signed, knowing she wouldn't understand.

"Come on in." She stepped to the side and pulled the door open a little wider.

Again he shook his head, leaning on the doorframe instead. He held out the journal, with his own note tucked in the front cover.

She took it from him, obviously confused. "Look, Sam." She was hesitant, watching him almost warily. "I know you have every right to hate me. What I did was..."

Sam flung a hand out at her, eyes wide and shaking his head emphatically. He held up a finger, pulled his notebook from his back pocket and scribbled down a note.

 _I never hated you. Why would you think that?_

She gave him a strange look, but read what he'd written. "I madethe deal that started all of this. I never wanted you boys to grown up in this life."

Sam smiled wanly before flipping his pad back around so he could write.

 _You did that to save Dad. I know you don't remember, but I was there._

"You were there? You weren't even born then."

He shrugged. _It's a story for another time. I just wanted to give you this. It's Dad's journal. It helped fill in a lot of gaps for me when he passed. Maybe it will help you, now_.

She looked down at the journal still in her hands and stroked it softly. "Thank you."

He nodded and smiled at her. _You being here? That fills in the biggest gap of all._

She looked like she might cry, so he smiled and turned to go.

"Wait, Sam!"

He turned back, surprised. "Are you okay? The whole ride here, you were quiet and now the notes. Are you sick? Did Castiel miss something?"

Sam shook his head. He couldn't quite meet her eye. He considered writing it all out again, but instead flipped to the front page of his notebook where Dean's childish note was copied out in his neatest handwriting and held it out for her.

 _Hello,_

 _My name is Sam Winchester. I am mute. I can hear just fine, I just can't speak. I am fluent in ASL._

She frowned as she studied the paper. "I don't understand. Mute?"

 _It was an accident a long time ago. We've tried everything. Not even Cas can give it back. But it's okay. I really am fine. I know it might not sound like it, but I get along just fine._

"Oh. How?"

He tapped the note sticking out from John's journal. _Just don't tell Dean I still use that stupid greeting. He'd never let me live it down._

She laughed a little. "Your secret is safe with me."

He smiled a little. _Goodnight, mom. I'll see you in the morning._

"Night." She watched him leave, but didn't call after him this time.

The next morning both boys found themselves gathered around the kitchen table. Neither had slept much the night before. They had both gravitated towards the most likely source of caffeine and converged in the kitchen. Dean had even made himself some bacon.

They were talking. Which happened rarely enough anymore.

'I think we should give mom the books,' Sam said.

Dean didn't have to ask which books. He scowled. "I knew there was another reason to hate Chuck."

Sam frowned, but soldiered on. 'It's a lot to catch up on, Dean. They would at least answer a few questions she might have. And they might not be completely representative, but you have to admit, they're a good sketch of what happened.'

"Including thoughts and feelings that I'd rather not share with my newly resurrected mother."

Sam shrugged. 'It was just an idea.' He went back to his cereal.

Dean snorted. "Yeah."

Sam smacked the table, partly to get Dean's attention but mostly to vent his frustration. He glared up at his brother. 'Do you think I want her to know everything? Do you think I want to tell her about Ruby, or demon blood, or Lilith, or Lucifer?!' He punched the table again. 'She deserves to know. We're not just hunters, Dean. We are pretty much on every big bad's hit list. It's dangerous.'

'Yeah, I know.' Dean looked tired. "I'll think about it okay? Just give me a little time."

'Fine. I know thinking's hard work for you.'

"Hey!" Dean shouted.

Sam held a finger to his mouth, aware their mother was still sleeping.

Dean made a face at him. 'Just because you're jealous, doesn't mean you should go around insulting people. You'll never be the prettiest princess at the ball, but I'm sure someone will ask you to dance.'

'You do realize that would make you the prettiest princess, right?'

'Shut up, bitch,' Dean said with a snarl. 'I'm a motherfucking dragon slayer.'

Sam snickered. 'Actually, if I recall correctly, the dragons sat you on your ass.'

Dean looked perplexed. "When did we...oh. Yeah, you didn't do so hot then either."

'You blew up Excalibur.'

'First of all, it wasn't actually Excalibur. Second, it was supposed to be made strong enough to slay a dragon. A little bit of plastic explosives shouldn't have hurt it. And you were right there with me.'

'Yeah, but it was your _idea_.'

'Was not.'

'Was too.'

"Was not!"

Sam grinned. 'Dean Winchester, the mighty sword slayer.'

Dean stuck his tongue out. 'Better watch it or I'll decide to play hair dresser for you again.'

'You wouldn't dare.' Sam glared at his brother.

"Good morning," Mary said from the door. Both boys jumps and turned to look at her. She was leaning in the door frame as though she'd been standing there for a little while.

Sam recovered first and smiled at her. He greeted her with a nod and held out a coffee cup with a questioning glance. As Dean pulled himself together and said, "Morning Mom."

"Morning. Yes, please," she said to Sam proffered coffee cup.

Sam got up to get the coffee as she settled herself at the table and stole some of Dean's bacon. "It looked like I missed something."

Dean scowled at Sam. "Just Sam being a little bitch."

Sam set the mug down on the table in front of Mary. 'Jerk. I'm going to murder you in your sleep if you even think about it.' He sank back down in his seat to pick at his forgotten cereal.

"See," Dean said with a grin. "Even Sam agrees."

Sam launched a spoonful of soggy corn flakes at Dean who dodged it and watched as it landed with a squelch on the tile floor. "We need to work on you aim." Dean smirked, pleased with himself.

Mary, apparently sensing another spat brewing cut in. "So, sign language?"

Dean looked a little guilty. "Yeah, uh. Has Sam talked to you?"

Sam nodded at the same time Mary said, "Briefly. Last night."

"Oh, then yeah. Bobby taught us when it first happened. Took about a year for us to get really good at it."

"Bobby?" She asked. Sam kept forgetting that she wouldn't know who these people were. He hadn't thought to explain him in his letter last night either.

Dean nodded. "Bobby Singer. We stayed with him sometimes when Dad had a big hunt. He was like a second father to us, especially after the accident, and then when Dad died. He was a good man."

Sam stared down in his cereal. He missed Bobby, fiercely. Somehow that was the one death he never seemed to leave in the past. It still hit him hard even now.

"Was?"

"He died a few years back."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

Dean shrugged.

Sam got the impression that his mother didn't know what to make of their lives. He didn't blame her. It seemed like every time she learned something new, it was somehow sad or scary. He wished he could share the good things too, but most of his good things were so caught up in the bad it was hard to separate them.

She must have sensed the mood declining because she smiled and said, "I guess you better get started teaching me."

Both Sam and Dean turned to look at her. Sam couldn't quite believe what he'd heard. Perhaps he'd known in his head that that was the sort of thing one might expect parents to do, but John had never been taken by the idea and he'd struggle to try and pick up what he did. He hsd learned only a handful of words and phrases, mostly just enough to get by in a hunting situation where they had to be quiet, and then let it drop. If Sam needed something he went to Dean or fended for himself. It really hadn't occurred to him that his mother might actually want to learn.

Dean shot him a sideways glance and smirked. Obviously he'd been sure of it, even if Sam hadn't considered it.

Sam pulled his notebook out and scribbled, _You really want to learn?_

Mary frowned at him, obviously confused. "Well, of course. I assume it's faster and easier for you than writing notes all the time. Unless it's something just between you boys. I'd understand if you don't want to share that."

Sam shook his head. _No! I'd love to teach you. I just didn't expect it is all._

She smiled at him, a little unsure. Sam could tell she was confused by his reaction but pleased that he'd teach her. _What do you want to know?_

"I don't know where to start to be honest. How did this Bobby teach you?"

Sam snorted and Dean jumped in to explain. "The thing you have to understand about Bobby," he said. "Is that he was a gruff old grump. He handed Sam a book and told him to ask if he had any questions." At Mary's disbelieving look, he back pedaled. "Bobby wasn't always comfortable with the mushy stuff. He might not be the fluffy bunnies and teddy bears kind of guy, but he made sure Sam and I had all the tools we needed. We always knew we had a place to come home to, too. Although he threatened to fill Dad's ass with buckshot if he ever showed his face around there again."

Sam chuckled at the memory. It was bittersweat to be sure, but it had been nice to realize there was someone on his side when he was still trying to figure things out. "Anyway," Dean continued. "The alphabet is where most courses will start you. Sometimes introducing yourself,"

"Okay, then. Let's start there."

Sam smiled. He glanced at Dean. 'Play 'terp?' He asked. At Dean's nod he turned back to Mary and signed slowly. 'This is how you spell your name.'

Dean repeated what he'd signed for their mother and together they started teaching her the basics. By the end, Sam was practically glowing.


End file.
